In Darkness
by thestylus01
Summary: Janeway recognized something in Kashyk.  Reposting from the archives.


In Darkness  
>the stylus<p>

Originally posted 11 December 1999

Summary: Janeway and Kashyk. Two of a kind.

Disclaimer: Paramount wins in the end.

***************  
><em>And we agreed the analogues for hell<em>  
><em>Came to us everywhere we looked in life.<em>  
><em>But not for heaven. For it we couldn't find<em>  
><em>A metaphor or likeness.<em>  
>-Mark Jarman, "Unholy Sonnet 16"<br>***************

There is no pretense between us. No pity. I appreciate that about you.

Oh, there is deception, of a hundred different kinds; we both move in it like a shared skin. Neither one of us is innocent. We know this. And it doesn't matter.

You don't play Mahler, here. I am glad of that, because I will never hear the First Symphony again with any sort of fond memory. Anyway, we are not the type for wistful reminiscing. I would not want a piece of music to associate with this one evening in the darkness of my ship- just the rough rasp of your breath. And the unfamiliar shape of my name on your tongue, like a strange fruit: it is the one thing I will let you give me.

You ask nothing of me. Even the motion of your hips and the pressure of your hands are not demands. In the light of your Infinite Spirals, you accused me of liking you better in uniform. I think you were right. I also think you understand why I came to you wearing mine. Somehow, the fact that neither one of us is wearing anything, now, does not refute those facts. We are not the sort to leave our uniforms behind, even for this. It is one of the reasons I am certain you will not be coming with us past the wormhole; and it is one of the reasons I know you would kill Kir and his people as readily as you must have killed that little girl so many months ago.

My crew would probably be scandalized. They probably should be scandalized. It's not every captain who comes to the quarters of a traitor- who is kept under armed guard- and locks out the internal sensors. You're a murderer: ruthless, cold-blooded; I do not lie to myself about this. You are not so unlike me. I have killed out here, in the Delta Quadrant. I have done other things I never dreamed possible. As my head impacts the wall I realize how dark it is when the ship is at warp and the strange stars are only faint lines of light against the void of space. When I came to your door, I asked you not to call the lights up. No matter how well I can rationalize this to myself, there are some things I still cannot bear to see in the cold light of the ship. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around your long torso, as if the warmth of your flesh could drive this chill out of my marrow.

I am glad you are not gentle. I think that would be more than I could bear. As long as it hurts, I think I am doing the right thing. I would give my life to get this crew home. But I would give more- give anything- to get them home still innocent. And have given. Spirits, I hope they never know what this journey has really cost.

Sometimes I think Tuvok knows, in that uncanny way he has of getting the sense of things, if not the actual narrative. Kes could probably tell, if she were still here. But the rest of them I can fool, usually. Poor Chakotay, always so hopeful, so caring. Sometimes I hate him, because he offers me something I cannot have. Because he thinks that it is a choice I can make, that I could keep them whole and still have something left for myself. He wants to give me hope; and there are days when that is harder than all the darkness. I love him, but not in a way he would understand. Not in a way he knows as love. I love him enough to spare him- to spare all of them. It is all I can do.

You do not ask me to be someone I am not. You do not want me soft or gentle, the way they do. We bruise each other in the darkness and neither of us apologizes. When I come it is with a wordless cry; and you arch back like a curved blade, my name again on your lips.

As I gather my clothes to leave, you catch my wrist, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh inside my arm which makes my skin prickle. But you do not ask me to stay. You run one hand through my hair and the gesture is suddenly tender; I feel the unfamiliar sensation of tears clotting in my throat. I wish, only for a moment, that things were different. That I could be that gentle again. But not if it would mean letting my crew endure the darkness I bear.

I leave without saying goodbye and when I reach my quarters I do not turn on the lights. The sonic shower rattles my teeth but rids me of your scent. I sleep for three hours, the most I ever manage out here. I do not dream of you.

Fin


End file.
